Viva La Vida
by Briallan
Summary: -"I used to rule the world, now I sweep the streets I used to own." Grown-up life isn't so easy as Spot Conlon has learned the hard way. Read on to see if our favorite Brooklyn newsie makes it back to the top or lands at the bottom of the Brooklyn Bridge.
1. Chapter 1

Viva La Vida

& - & - &

"_I used to rule the world  
Seas would rise when I gave the word  
Now in the morning I sweep alone  
Sweep the streets I used to own"_

The whole room stood when the young boy entered the restaurant, a sly smile on his face that curled the corners of his mouth and shone twinkling through his bright blue eyes. Another boy with short dark hair and a strong frame stood and approached the smiling devil.

"So Spot, what'd he say?" the boy asked expectantly. The blue eyed boy laughed.

"What'd you think he said, Shiner? _I_ was askin' him." The boy called Shiner turned to the rest of the crowd, who by now were leaning forward in their seats, brimming with anticipation.

"We got it!" The restaurant erupted into cheers as many rowdy boys leapt from their chairs, fists raised and glasses clanking. Shiner turned to Spot, clapping him on the back.

"You done well, Spot," he said.

"Course I did, Shiner," replied Spot. Then with a stern look he added, "Don't go gettin' all sentimental on me." Shiner laughed.

"Course not."

- - -

That party had been one of the best nights of his life. His accomplishment that night had left a legendary mark on the hearts of kids all over Brooklyn through generations of newsies. Having so much _just for them_, was an unimaginable prize. A prize that no one thought he could get, but he did. He did it. All for them. And for himself. For his reputation. His reputation boomed and spread that night, but, like with all good things, it had to end. He couldn't be a newsie forever, and when that life ended, no one seemed to care what he had done back then.

This left him where he was today, just another lousy good for nothing Irish worker. Little pay and even less food were his only possessions. He didn't even have an apartment. No longer Spot Conlon, feared and respected leader of Brooklyn who could turn the tables with the snap of his fingers or a withering glare, he became the worthless nothing he was born to be: James Conlon, 30-year-old, father of 5 children currently living with their mothers, never married, drunk who spends his nights in a tavern and his days sweeping the filth ridden streets of New York City. He was constantly in trouble with the law and this morning was no exception.

"Mr. Conlon," Officer Bradstreet began, "Sleeping on the job again I see. Are you aware that you are an employee of the government, Mr. Conlon? One who is paid by the hour to keep the streets clean for his entire shift so that the good _upstanding_ people of New York can enjoy it? _And_ are you aware that if I report this level of misconduct to your employers you will be fired _immediately_? Where will you buy your gin then, Mr. Conlon, if you have no money with which to buy it?"

James looked at the man through half open eyes, "Are you aware, _officer_, of the fact that I am in a bad state and would appreciate it if you could keep the noise down?" He spat the word officer with a spiteful emphasis.

Officer Bradstreet's eyes narrowed, "Mr. Conlon you have 30 seconds to begin cleaning my streets before I haul you off to the station." James made a show of standing as if it were a nearly impossible task and began sweeping the sidewalk.

As Officer Bradstreet walked away James muttered under his breath, "Your streets? They used to be mine."

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. The title of this story and the lyrics (in italics) at the beginning don't belong to me either. They belong to Coldplay and their song "Viva La Vida." The plot of this story doesn't really belong to me either as it was inspired by "Viva La Vida."

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read my story. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with it so I can't promise speedy updates, but it won't be any longer than 2 weeks at the maximum. I'd really like your opinion though because the idea just came to me as I was listening to "Viva La Vida," and I thought it might make a cool story. However, if nobody likes it or responds I probably won't finish it so review please.


	2. Chapter 2

Viva La Vida

& - & - &

"_I used to roll the dice  
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes  
Listen as the crowd would sing:  
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"_

"I'll raise you five cents," Spot Conlon said to his opponents, his cold blue eyes revealing no clues to the contents of his hand. The dim lights around the table in the back corner of Tibby's cast shadows across the other boy's solemn faces. Solemn faces that, no matter how practiced, couldn't hide the fear and anxiousness rippling behind the feigned indifference in their eyes. Spot almost allowed himself a smile, but satisfied himself instead, with a contented sigh. He had this round. He was bound to win, and what a sweet victory this would be. The boys were betting high tonight. A two dollar jackpot was in his pocket after this round. Maybe he would even buy the poor suckers a round of drinks. After all, two dollars was certainly a lot for a newsie.

"That's it, I'm out," a boy from Queens named Bear Jensen admitted reluctantly. "I have papes to buy tomorrow, you know."

"We all got papes to buy, Bear. 'Cept Conlon here, who's gonna be livin' the fine life if you scabs don't stop droppin' out just cause he gives you a dirty look," Racetrack responded with obvious annoyance.

"Calm down, Race. I didn't know any better, I'd say your gettin' a little nervous," Spot said, challenging the boy. His signature smirk teased the corners of his mouth, egging Race on further. Racetrack glared at the Brooklyn leader as he tossed five cents of his own onto the pile. Spot only stared back, his eyes as soulless and unfeeling as ever, despite the smug grin resting inside him that screamed to be let out. In time, he assured himself, in time. The other two boys playing folded, and Race's face whitened as Spot laid his cards on the table.

"I'll be takin' that money now, Higgins," he stated with a cool arrogance only he could pull off. Racetrack shook his head in disbelief before tossing his cards onto the table and leaving the group.

"You never learn, do you, Higgins. I always win," Spot called after the boy as he left the restaurant. He turned to his table mates and laughed. "Drinks on me, boys."

- - -

He used to be the king, the best poker player around. How could he have fallen so far down the ladder? How did he end up as the one with only a few pennies in his pocket at the end of a game? When he was young, when he was a newsie, when he was Spot Conlon, he bought drinks for friends and enemies alike with his winnings. Now he couldn't even afford one lousy bottle after a game. So he sat on the street corner and thought. He thought of what he used to be, what he had become, and what he was going to do to get the alcohol he so desperately needed.

"I could steal some," he pondered aloud. When he was young, he could steal the cigar right out of your mouth and be gone before you even realized you weren't smoking nothing but air. Maybe he wasn't quite as good as he used to be, but that was the kind of skill you couldn't lose altogether. He stood up and entered the bar behind him. His body bristled and his senses came alive upon entering the smoke filled room. The music sent vibrations up and down his spine, mingling with the tingling anticipation of the crime he was about to commit. The bartender was distracted by a rowdy customer. The bum was about to get himself kicked out of the joint. Now was his time to act. He slipped into the edge seat at the corner and slipped his arm around the side, grabbing the first bottle he touched. He sat for a moment before standing to exit the bar. When he turned around he came face to face with none other than Officer Bradstreet.

"Now I know you were going to pay for that weren't you, Mr. Conlon," the officer asked with feigned innocence. James sighed, dropping the bottle to the floor. "No? Pity, Mr. Conlon, you're going to have to come with me." Officer Bradstreet handcuffed James and led him from the bar, a look of smug victory upon his face that reminded James so much of the way he used to look after winning a game of poker when he was young.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own newsies. The title, lyrics, and plot belong to Coldplay and "Viva La Vida."

A/N: Wow, this came a lot quicker than I expected. I was bored and had nothing better to do, so I decided to work on the next chapter. I decided that it turned out okay and saw no reason why I shouldn't post it, so, viola! Reviews are appreciated!


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